Once In A Blue Moon
by ThereIsNoOtherWay
Summary: When Gwen gets taken hostage by a pair of werewolves, Merlin, Arthur and Morgana must defeat the shadowy Wolf King, or risk losing Gwen forever. Merlin x Morgana fic.
1. Have You Forgotten How To Knock?

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with the BBC and I do not own Merlin or any of its characters. I am using them for entertainment purposes under the fair use and/or transformative works clause.**

 **This fic is set just after The Nightmare Begins, just so we're all clear! Enjoy.**

"Have you forgotten how to knock, Merlin?" Morgana asks from her position sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed, as the servant enters the room with a small leap, unaware that he is being watched. She smooths the crumpled fabric of her emerald dress hastily so it shines flatly, an instinctive motion she often performs when in Merlin's presence.

Merlin starts at her voice, the way he does every time she catches him staring at her during dinner, and turns, apologising instinctively. "I'm sorry, my lady, I- wait."

Morgana watches with amusement as uncertainty followed by confusion cross Merlin's face. "This is...my room?" Merlin says slowly, as though unsure whether he is or is not in the wrong here.

His tousled hair and mud streaked face are adorable, thinks Morgana. His chiselled cheekbones and intense blue eyes less...adorable, and more...hot. Intense. _How perceptive, his intense blue eyes are intense_ , Morgana thinks sarcastically at herself. Not just intense, but almost magical; Morgana is aware of the danger of the word, but somehow it seems to fit the young man before her. In fact, Morgana has certain untested suspicions about Merlin's abilities, which really only serve to make him all the more alluring and mysterious. But, dammit, now she's been staring for too long.

Morgana clears her throat and gives an unaffected laugh. "I know. I was joking."

Merlin tries for a laugh also, and Morgana wonders briefly if his heart is pounding as fast as hers; she decides this would be wishful thinking. She can't help but remember the last time they were alone together, when he'd come to check on her in her chambers. At night. _At night._ Morgana had been so sure something had been going to happen; had wished he'd make some move, had thought he was going to, but he hadn't, and she'd opened the door for him with a heavy heart, full of the knowledge that his affections lay elsewhere. She sighs slightly and looks up at him.

"Right. And you are here, why?" Merlin asks her, frowning although still with a smile. Morgana takes a strand of her long ebony hair in her fingertips and twists it gently. Is it her imagination, or do his eyes widen at her movement?

Morgana shakes the fuzz of dangerous attraction from her mind and focuses on the matter at hand. "Um, Gwen," she blurts, "I haven't seen Gwen since yesterday. It's not like her not to turn up for work, I wondered if you'd seen her?"

Merlin's frown loses it's smile. "She didn't come to work? That's not like her at all. When was the last time you saw her?"

The bedroom really is quite small, no doubt that's why Morgana's feeling so flushed. Mind you, lately rooms have an unholy habit of shrinking every time Merlin walks into them, almost forcing the two of them closer and ever closer.

Morgana says hastily, "She left after dark last night. It's past noon now, I'm worried about her." As soon as she says it she realises how very worried she actually is about her maid; Gwen lives alone; dark nights and defenceless young women make for a dangerous combination hovering perpetually on the edge of violence. Morgana bites her lip.

"Did you check her house?" Merlin questions her.

"Yes, of course. She's not there."

Merlin nods and pushes the door to his bedroom open wider. "We should check the smithy. Maybe she fell and hurt herself or something."

"Yes. Will you come with me?" Morgana responds, standing and moving out of the bedroom and down the few steps into the physician's chamber.

Following Merlin's sensible plan, the two trot out into the sun strewn courtyard. Morgana can't help but notice that although Merlin's stride is longer than hers, often allowing him to get ahead of her, he always stops sweetly and waits for her to catch up. Morgana considers clasping his hand in hers in order to slow his pace, forcing herself to remember just in time that Merlin is Gwen's beau and Morgana could never betray the girl's friendship in that way.

"You know, this still doesn't explain why you were in my bedroom, not Gaius' chambers," Merlin points out with a cheeky grin that quickly slips back into concern as they reach the heavy wood door of the smithy, standing slightly ajar. Darkness spills out into the sunny courtyard.

"Oh, uh-" Truth be told, Morgana hadn't intended to be waiting in his room. She had the (rather frustrating) impression that Merlin and Gwen were an 'item' and so when Gwen didn't turn up it had seemed common sense to ask him if he'd seen her.

She'd fully intended to wait patiently in the physician's room, but something about the door at the top of the few steps had tempted her. Almost as though there was something magical inside, calling to her. And quite apart from that, Morgana had felt a sudden urge to see the place where Merlin spent his night-time hours. She'd had to suppress a brief, confusing surge of jealousy as she'd sat at the end of the slim, rough bedstead, wondering if Gwen had ever spent the night in it.

 _Gwen._

Merlin is already inside the smithy, treading carefully in the dusty and dim interior. "Gwen?" he calls out, running a hand over the worktop, searching for a candle. "Hello?"

"Gwen, are you hurt?" Morgana adds her voice to his, but there is no reply.

A swiftly moving shadow near the end of the room makes them both startle. "Hello?" calls Merlin again, louder this time.

"H-hello?" A tentative voice of indeterminate gender reaches out of the shadow. It is obviously not Gwen's. Merlin exchanges a surprised look with Morgana which gives her childish butterflies.

"Who's there?" Morgana asks authoritatively.

"Firren. I'm Firren," this assertion seems to give the figure confidence. A young man, haggard and skinny, steps out of the darkness, blinking in the shard of light cast by the open smithy door. His hair is long and scraggly, an odd shade somewhere between brown and blond. His nails are long and dirty, his brown shirt tattered and feet shoeless. "Are - are you Gwen's friends?" the boy asks them.

"Yes, where is she?" Morgana replies swiftly, taking a step towards the figure and causing him to back away slightly.

"You're the lady Morgana. And you're Gwen's friend," Firren states, pointing to each of them in turn. "I have Gwen," he adds helpfully.

Merlin and Morgana exchange another glance. "Okay, Firren. Where do you have Gwen?" Merlin asks patiently.

Morgana bites down on the inside of her cheek, mind a confusing mess of worry about Gwen's wellbeing, complicated by a sudden and completely inappropriate desire to hear Merlin speak to Morgana herself in that kind, patient tone. She imagines it after a nightmare, soft and soothing as one of Gaius' calming drafts.

She brings her wandering attention back to Firren. The young man clears his throat and looks at them with evident pride. His chest seems to swell with it as he says, "She's my hostage."

"What?!" Merlin and Morgana yelp in identically alarmed and bewildered unison.

The young man sinks again and seats himself dejectedly on the edge of the blacksmith's anvil. He looks close to tears as he begins his story. "It's my mother. She was ill to start with, she's always been ill. She needed food, medicine and those are scarce in our village. I went to the lord of our village," the boy shivers, "Nobody's ever seen him, not really. He lives in a huge castle and nobody even knows his name.

We call him the Wolf King. Anyway, I did ask first, I asked very nicely, for some food and some money for medicine but he didn't give it to me. So I tried to steal it, I had to, you understand, don't you? My mother was dying! So. I went to his castle one night and just opened the door - and I'd barely even made it inside when I heard his voice." Firren draws a shaky breath.

"He said, that for the sin of trespass, he would curse both me and my mother. And then he - he turned us into werewolves. We were hunted from our village and now we have to live on the outskirts, terrified of the next full moon, which will be our first transformation. My mother's becoming sicker. She'll die if she doesn't get her home and her family back, she'll die. She won't survive the transformation."

Firren inhales again and straightens his back, looking boldly at the two people before him. "I need you and you and perhaps the Prince Arthur as well, to go to the castle of the Wolf King and make him lift the curse on me and my mother. Or kill him and lift it yourselves, I don't care which. And then you'll get your friend back."

There is no question in Morgana's mind that she needs to find Gwen and bring her home. "No. Give us Gwen, and then we'll ask your lord to lift the curse," she returns.

Firren blanches. "Is that, is that how the hostage thing usually works?" he asks, bright brown eyes shimmering with anxiety in the darkness. He shakes his head and gives a nervous cough.

"No, you're not fooling me. Our village, Pataglen, is a day's ride from here. My mother's already halfway back there with your friend, and I'm leaving now to join them. The Wolf King's castle is right next to the village." He shivers again. "So close it casts its terrible shadow over our whole lives. Bring the Prince Arthur, lift the curse, and find my mother and me next to the village and we'll give you back Gwen."

With that, Firren seems almost to fade away, into the darkness and out of the room before they can catch or follow him. "Wait! How do we lift the curse?" Merlin calls after his departing shadow, but he doesn't reply. He's gone, along with any chance they had of bargaining Gwen's return.

Morgana turns to Merlin with eyes bright with adrenaline and fervour. "We have to ride after her," she tells him.

"Yeah of course. I'll leave now, you get Arthur and follow us -" Merlin begins.

Morgana shakes her head emphatically. "No. I'm sure you want to be Gwen's knight in shining armour, but we need a plan, we don't even know anything about this Wolf King." She considers for a moment.

"You find out everything Gaius knows about werewolves and curses. I'll get Arthur, and we'll meet again in my chambers in half an hour," she decides, pushing her way out the door and back towards the castle before he can argue with her.


	2. Inside Your Head

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with the BBC and I do not own Merlin or any of its characters. I am using them for entertainment purposes under the fair use and/or transformative works clause.**

Morgana is already leaning over a large sheet of parchment on the table when Merlin strides into her chamber, arms full of books. Arthur had been surprisingly easily convinced of Gwen's need for immediate rescue; his face had gone almost grey at Morgana's words, and he is now pacing the room anxiously. Looking at the worried expressions on the two men's faces, which Morgana is sure are mirrored by her own visage, she stifles a wry smile. _We make a fine collection, don't we?_ she thinks.

As Merlin places the books on the table and stands awkwardly, lip clenched between teeth, Morgana is moved by the concern in his eyes. She straightens and goes to him without thinking, her soft hand drawn comfortingly along his arm. "We'll get her back," Morgana reassures quietly, trying to ignore the stomach churning jolt of her hand brushing his cloth covered skin. Merlin gives her a grateful smile.

Arthur glares. "Where's my comforting words, Morgana?" he complains, stomping over to the table and flicking through the books at random.

"Well, you looked likely to bite my head off if I got too close, so you'll just have to manage on your own," Morgana says sweetly, taking a book from the stack. It is heavy and dark, rich blue covers hiding parchment soft as feathers, with neat black ink drawings all over the pages. She flips through, unsure what she is looking for.

"What did Gaius have to say?" Arthur growls at Merlin.

"Do you want the bad news or the bad news first?" Merlin quips back.

"Definitely the bad news," Morgana tells him. He sends an absent smile her way.

"First part of the bad news is that he's heard of the Wolf King, and what he's heard isn't good. Nobody's ever seen this Wolf King, but he's believed to live alone in the Castle of Lupine. Our friend was telling the truth, it is right beside the village of Pataglen. There are stories: they say the Wolf King has the power to turn anyone he likes into a werewolf. They also say..." Merlin stops and clears his throat.

"They also say that he lives inside shadow, inside the shadows in his castle: and only inside the shadow; pretty much he cannot be destroyed because the shadow acts as a shield. Shadow can't disappear completely, it just moves. The Wolf King is virtually indestructible."

"I'm sure we'll find a way. We'll have to," mumbles Arthur, flinging down his heavy brown book and picking up a flimsy sketchbook filled with pencil drawings of the moon.

"Second piece of bad news..." Merlin continues.

"God, you included about five different bad things in the first piece, isn't it over yet?" Arthur gripes, hands tensing so hard against the paper that he looks about ready to tear it in two.

Morgana shakes her head reprovingly at the prince. "Let him finish talking," she defends Merlin, who gives her... _was that a wink?_ Morgana raises her eyebrows at his audacity and is gratified as Merlin blushes slightly, probably regretting his bold action.

"Second piece of bad news," Merlin continues hastily, "Is that the full moon is in two days. Even if we leave now, we won't get to the castle till this time tomorrow, which would give us only a day and a half to defeat the king and lift the curse."

Silence follows this pronouncement as the three look outside at the sun, already beginning to lower from its position in the centre of the heavens.

"Gaius says it's a blue moon - second full moon in a month. The magic will be stronger than usual and the werewolves more vicious," Merlin adds helpfully. "If we don't lift the curse before they let Gwen go, they'll kill her, there won't be anything we can do to stop it."

This time both Arthur and Morgana glare at him. "Right little ray of sunshine, today, aren't you?" Arthur mutters. Morgana turns to the window and leans heavily on the edge, looking out to where she's seen Gwen wander so many times. "Poor Gwen. She must be so frightened," she murmurs.

 _'It'll be okay, Morgana. We'll find her.'_ Merlin's voice reaches her, sounding slightly distorted. As though he's talking through a wall or something, with a slight echo following the words. Morgana turns, puzzled by the sound.

"Thank you, Merlin," she murmurs, allowing a bright smile to momentarily cross her features. "It's nice to see someone can respond sympathetically to fear, mine and Gwen's."

It's hard to say who looks more surprised by her words, Arthur or Merlin. Merlin's mouth hangs slightly open and Arthur has a bewildered expression crossing his features. "What?" Morgana frowns.

"Er, Merlin didn't say anything, Morgana," Arthur says. "So unless the two of you have some sort of psychic connection going on, he's no more sympathetic than I am." Arthur's gaze crosses suspiciously from his shuffling manservant to his frowning foster sister.

"Oh," Morgana returns to the window _. I'm sure I heard him. Things really must be bad if I'm beginning to hear voices in my head..._

 _'Morgana,'_ comes the same almost-Merlin's voice. Morgana whips around again, looking at him. Dust motes fire in the air between them, disturbed by Morgana's swinging hair.

"Yes?"

"He didn't say anything, Morgana!" Arthur exclaims, flinging his hands up in a gesture of despair. "Can we please make some sort of plan so that we can go and find Gwen?"

Morgana stares for a moment, beginning to be seriously confused and more than a little annoyed. _If they're playing a game, it's not funny. Am I losing my mind?_ She takes a deep breath and picks up a book from the table, heart thumping. The bright, fever yellow hardback does little to soothe her agitated nerves.

 _'Morgana.'_

Now Morgana is seriously annoyed. Her head snaps up and she glares at both men. "Whatever game you two are playing, it's not funny! Stop it, we need to leave as soon as we can, we don't have time for this."

Arthur looks about as annoyed as Morgana feels. He opens his mouth to make some exasperated comment, but before he can, Morgana hears Merlin's voice again. _'Morgana, if you can hear me, get rid of Arthur, we need to talk.'_

She stares. She certainly heard something, but...Merlin hadn't opened his mouth. What is happening to her? Morgana's erratic heartbeat calms slightly as she registers Merlin's tiny nod towards her. Okay. Get rid of Arthur. That she can do. She turns to the irritated blond prince.

"Arthur, we need you to go and see if there are any maps of this Castle of Lupine in the library," she tells him.

"Make Merlin go and get them, he's the servant. I'm the one who knows about strategy, we should start making a plan," Arthur argues with her.

"No, it...it sounds like the Wolf King is magical," Morgana invents, "So Geoffrey may not release the maps to anyone without authority. Come on, Arthur. I know you think yourself above such menial actions, but big men are made from small kindnesses," she finishes with sarcasm.

Arthur shakes his head, then spins on his heel and begins to leave the room. "Fine. You two saddle the horses and pack some food, I'll meet you at the stables. We can plan on the way, hurry up, will you? And tie my saddle girth properly this time, Merlin!"

With Arthur gone, Morgana turns determinately back to Merlin, who has moved to the table and is carefully sorting the books, stacking any he thinks they may need. He looks up, eyes locking with hers, his cerulean orbs holding a strange mixture of hesitancy tinged with excitement.

"What's this all about, Merlin?" Morgana wants to know, hands on hips.

He continues to look at her intensely. _'Can you hear this, Morgana?'_ she hears, although the boy's mouth is still closed.

"Yes, I can hear it! What are you doing, just explain it to me!" Morgana explodes, closing the distance between them.

Merlin takes a step back from her and Morgana remembers just before her hands push at his chest that she should not touch him. Any proximity at all is, in fact, probably a bad thing.

 _'I'm talking inside your head. From inside my head.'_

"What?" Morgana lets out a small gasp, and stares, confused and shocked. He's inside her head? This is probably not a good place for him to be, but aside from that, how is it possible?

He shakes his head slightly, lips shut tightly, and Morgana hears _, 'Not out loud. Answer me inside your mind. Think the words and push them towards me,'_ he tells her.

Morgana looks at him with disbelief. Needing to do something with her hands, she picks up the stack of books and cradles them, stepping backwards to reduce the distraction of his body heat. With intense concentration, Morgana forms the words in her mind. Not normal thoughts, but ink black words lodged inside her imagination, focused on far harder than she normally does in speech. She looks at Merlin and tries hard to lift the words from her own mind and push them into his. _'Like...this?'_

A grin cracks Merlin's face. "Yep," he says aloud.

"But how...why...how?" Morgana sputters, exhilarated now by the almost magical communication, but still extremely confused.

Merlin takes the edge of her wide sleeve unconsciously in a pincer grip and strides towards the door, taking her with him. "Come on. We can talk on the way to the stables," he says, glancing back at her. Morgana nods and scurries to keep up. Her heart, which had threatened to halt its staccato rhythm, has begun to race once more.

As they hurry through the corridors, Merlin looks around nervously, making sure nobody is in hearing distance before he begins to explain. Morgana is disappointed to find that he's let go of her sleeve. "I don't know why it's happening. Before, when you said Gwen must be afraid, you sounded upset: I though the words 'it'll be okay' but I didn't say them. Arthur would probably have executed me then and there for being sappy. But when you turned around, I knew you must have heard them, so I tried it again."

"Yes, well, in future please don't do things that make me think I'm losing my mind," Morgana can't help warning him.

His face softens. He obviously hasn't remembered how confused and frightened the uncontrollable parts of the supernatural make her. "I'm sorry. I wanted to make sure it worked before I spoke to you about it. But I'm sorry."

They turn down a new hallway, yellow stone casting shadows over the floor. "Why us? Arthur obviously couldn't hear it. Why you and me?" Morgana questions him.

Merlin seems to hesitate, as though there's something he's not telling her. "I don't know," he shrugs. "But it might be because you and I were the ones who saved the Druid boy. That's how...that's how he called to me, when I found him, in my head. Maybe it's some kind of Druid magic."

They emerge out into the sunlight and whisk into the stables, the door creaking open. Morgana drops the books into a saddle bag and gently strokes her own horse's nose, untying the snorting animal as she considers Merlin's words. "So the Druid boy gave us this...ability. I still don't understand why Arthur can't do it too. He helped the boy also. And why now? It's been months."

Merlin is focused on saddling two of the other horses, fastening the girth tightly under their bellies. "Maybe we could have done it since then, we just didn't try?" he suggests. "Anyway, it could come in useful."

Morgana cautiously voices the question she's been concerned about. "So, can you hear...all my thoughts?"

Merlin lifts his head, giving her a rogueish grin underneath sparkling eyes. "Why, got things you'd rather not share, my lady?"

Morgana can't help flushing slightly, but he continues before she finds words in her own defence. "Don't worry. It seems like we can only hear what we send to each other. Just be careful what thoughts you form and how...loud they are, I suppose."

Morgana nods and glances at the sun, continuing to lower to its afternoon vantage point. "I'll wait with the horses. You go and get whatever else we need," she changes the topic. They need to hurry. God knows how terrified Gwen is right now.

As Merlin walks away, she forms more words in her mind and sends them out to him _. 'I like...this...how we can...talk.'_

 _'Me too,'_ she hears back, as Merlin disappears from sight.


	3. A Day's Ride

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with the BBC and I do not own Merlin or any of its characters. I am using them for entertainment purposes under the fair use and/or transformative works clause.**

Morgana sways gently on her horse as the three ride through the forest, following Gaius' hand drawn directions to the village of Pataglen. The atmosphere is tense and the air chilly, wintergreen leaves tumbling about their shoulders and dappling the light in a way that seems threatening. The sky is darkening; the moon, a waxing gibbous, will not rise fully until later and Morgana realises that they will probably need to stop soon, to eat, water the horses, and rest. Although she would gladly have kept riding through the night, her energy is depleting. None of them will be any good to Gwen exhausted.

She watches Merlin's slim back shudder as he gestures to Arthur, chattering blithely. Arthur has been more surly than usual (if Morgana had not been so distracted by her own feelings and worries, she might have thought this was unusual; as it is, she has little mental space to spare for Arthur's problems) and Merlin has spent the entire ride joking and insulting the prince to lift his spirits. Morgana isn't quite sure how a bantering argument about the precise definition of 'clot pole' is supposed to be cheering, but it seems to be working.

As the path is wide enough only for two horses, Morgana has allowed Arthur and Merlin to ride together and she has cantered quietly behind, taking in her surroundings from beneath the wide hood of her soft green cloak. She has a lot to think about: namely, this new ability that she and Merlin seem to share. Morgana has had her suspicions about Merlin's abilities almost since he came to Camelot; she was so sure that she'd seen him use Magic to defeat that afanc creature, had even begun to confront him about it, but something in his expression had stopped her and she's ended up pretending she'd merely been talking about Gwen.

There were other things, too: the flint intended to start the fire in Ealdor had surely been faulty, yet Merlin had lit the wood within seconds. Had it been luck? Or had it been sorcery? And why, if he had nothing at all to do with magic, had he been so keen to help her come to terms with her own? Morgana is warming to her subject as the trio trot around a slight bend and find themselves in an open clearing.

Arthur turns his head to speak to her. "If you're agreeable, we'll stop here. We need to sleep and the horses could do with a drink."

Morgana nods, sliding off her animal and speaking softly to the beast, soothing and gentle. The long ride has left her sore and aching, but it had been worth it: Morgana has a plan.

Silence creeps into the clearing along with darkness as the rescue party makes ready their camp for the night, cooperating to gather wood and pile it neatly, waiting for flame. They work quickly, bellies sore with hunger, and once the dry bracken is stacked and ready, Morgana allots herself the task of lighting the flames. Arthur has disappeared out of the clearing to water the horses at a nearby stream, and Merlin is busy with the saddle bags. He kneels on the ground, groping in the half light among the fabric, looking for food and saucepans.

 _'Merlin,'_ Morgana calls softly inside her head. The ability seems to come more easily this time, words viscous and visible, dripping a deep black that cannot be contained in only a single mind. It thrills her.

Merlin turns and his teeth glow white in a grin, the light of the rising moon bouncing off his cheekbones and shadowing his face. _'Yes, my lady?'_ he sends back to her.

 _'Can you...help...me? I can't light this fire,'_ Morgana lies, standing and brushing grass off her knees. Her heart is thudding like some odd, ancient ritual drum. Something has to give this time. He'll tell her, he has to.

He nods briskly, clattering saucepans into a single hand and moving to her side quickly, letting the food fall by the side of the hearth. He holds out a hand and she drops the fire lighting steel into his palm, trying not to look at his face, trying to act casually.

Merlin kneels in the grass flattened by her body and she watches the steel glimmer and gleam under the harsh moonlight. "Do you have the flint? Sorry, did I drop it?" Merlin mutters, looking at the ground by his feet.

Morgana feels her heart shudder and almost stop as she folds her arms and states, "I think we both know that you don't need a flint to light a fire."

Merlin glances up sharply, and Morgana curses herself for not doing this in the daylight. She can make out a brief flash of panic quickly hidden by blankness, but the nuances of his expression are lost to her. "I don't know what you mean," he says slowly.

"Don't lie to me. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No, my lady, I don't!" Merlin denies quickly, as though hoping the formality will diffuse the situation somewhat. Morgana cannot tell whether his voice holds genuine confusion or whether it's just a shield against her interrogation.

"Well, you certainly seemed perfectly capable of lighting a fire without a tool back in Ealdor," Morgana hedges. She feels immediately guilty for bringing up the topic, as the sudden shock of pain at the memory of his village is visible even in the half light.

"Please just give me the flint," Merlin says, holding out his hand, impatient now.

Morgana feels a flutter of anxiety in her stomach at his consistent denial. She'd been so sure this would break him. Could she have been wrong about his abilities? She lifts her chin and says calmly, "Light the fire."

"Give me the flint."

"Light. The. Fire."

Merlin sighs audibly, "Morgana, I feel like you're confusing the order in which these steps need to happen."

Morgana grits her teeth. _Why won't he just tell her?_ "Do you not trust me? Because I put a lot of trust in you and I don't understand why you won't just tell me this. Can't you see how much it would mean to me?" she exclaims, praying internally to all the gods she knows of that she isn't wrong about this.

Merlin shakes his head. Morgana tries another tactic. _'Please?'_ she sends to him. _'You don't have to say it out loud.'_

Merlin does not reply to her in their silent lexicon. "Give me the flint, please, my lady," he requests tiredly.

"Light the fire!" she contends, hovering now on the edge of anger. "Just light the bloody fire, Merlin!"

For a moment Merlin looks up at her, her figure tall and standing over him, backlit by the sheening moon. Her cloak shadows her face and Morgana feels for a second all that he can see when he looks at her. Glorius. Brilliant. Terrifying. She shivers, not breaking the gaze, and almost sighs with relief as Merlin makes his head nod slowly. His lips fall open and he seems about to confess to something momentous.

"I can hear shouting, please don't tell me you two are arguing, that's all we need," Arthur re-enters the glade, smashing the confessional moment between them as ably as if he'd held a hammer.

"What would the two of you even have to fight about?" he seems vaguely suspicious as he stomps to the closest log and removes his boots. "Merlin? Morgana? The problem is...?"

Morgana steadies herself and does not allow her disappointment to show in her voice.

"Nothing's wrong. Merlin can't see what's in front of his eyes, as usual," she says sweetly. As she storms silently out of the glade, intending to visit the stream to cool her raging emotions, Morgana casually lets the flint fall from the wide sleeve of her cloak, dropping it at Merlin's feet.

It's much later, after their hasty, anxious supper of beans and barely bread, when Merlin breaks into Morgana's aggrieved silence.

"I brought an extra blanket for you. It's cold," Merlin's soft voice sounds like an apology to Morgana. She uncurls herself from her tight covering of her cloak and reaches for the soft blue wool blanket held in his outstretched fingertips like a peace offering. Morgana had been angry at his refusal to acknowledge her, but now she merely feels sad, homesick, and confused. If she was wrong about him, then she really is all alone in Camelot, and she doesn't want to lose her friendship with him. Tears prick her eyes at his kind gesture as wraps the blanket tightly around her body.

"Thank you. Will you be warm enough?" she asks him softly.

"Ah, I'll be fine. I've slept in places a lot colder than this," he gives her a cheerful smile of forgiveness.

Morgana twists the blanket awkwardly in her hands. "About earlier..."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry, Merlin, it was a dangerous thing I was accusing you of. I just...I just feel so alone. I hope you can understand."

The darkness clouds Merlin's expression; he is unreadable. Morgana feels genuine guilt about her earlier anger at him, but if she is honest, a small part of her is hoping that her apology will prompt a confession. His words, when he speaks, contain that frustratingly vague empathy that merely serves to fuel Morgana's suspicions.

"I understand better than anyone," he tells her gently, before turning and retiring to his sleeping berth on the other side of the hearth.

Morgana feels salty drops trickle down her face in the darkness. She's so very tired of being all alone. She feels a ridiculously inappropriate desire to cross the flames with her blankets and lie down next to Merlin, curling herself into the harsh bones of his body, for comfort and warmth and some sort of reduction of her isolation. Instead, she forms a thought and sends it shakily across to him. _'Sleep well.'_

 _'Sleep well, Morgana,'_ he replies.


	4. It's Just You and Me

**Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with the BBC and I do not own Merlin or any of its characters. I am using them for entertainment purposes under the fair use and/or transformative works clause.**

Morgana wakes to cold air drifting down her neck, twisting its way beneath the heavy blankets. A faint whistling stirs her consciousness into a calm, soothing half-alertness, and with her eyes still shuttered she listens comfortably to the sound of wood falling to earth, the harsh flick of a flint against iron, followed by a gentle blowing and a click and crackle as the fire is caught.

Morgana opens her eyes reluctantly, groaning as she moves at her painful muscles, sore from her night on the ground. Although Morgana is not one to complain, and has certainly spent plenty of nights out of doors, she is still the King's ward, used to luxury and a warm, soft mattress.

Her eyes meet Merlin's above the campfire and he gives her a cheerful smile. Morgana notices, however, that he is still avoiding holding her green eyes in his.

Good morning, Morgana sends. She is still childishly thrilled by the visceral presence of the words, the way that they drop slowly through the thick air from her mind into his. Once again, the words magic magic magic whisper into her mind. They dance around her head and Morgana imagines them like tiny lanterns, flickering and reflected in Merlin's eyes. In her mind's eye, the golden lit words gallop and encircle the tall boy's head, although here they lose certainty and gain question marks. Magic? Magic? Magic?

"Good morning, my lady," Merlin replies formally, refusing to use mind speak. This sparks a wave of irritation in Morgana - he's the one who taught her to use it, after all, and now he won't.

He looks up, and his eyes feel painfully sharp as they seem to understand what she was just imagining. _Oh, no, did I send the magic thought_ , Morgana wonders helplessly. Instead of commenting, Merlin merely fills a metal travelling mug with hot water flavoured with early blackberries and hands it towards her. Morgana sits up, still enveloped in blankets, and reaches out, grasping for it. Their fingers touch on the rim and Merlin lets go so abruptly that a little water slops over the edge, dampening the blankets.

"Sorry, my lady." He apologises hastily, busying himself once more at the edge of the fire. He flings a few unnecessary twigs into the leaping flames and watches the smoke rise. _To avoid looking in her eyes?_

"It's fine." Morgana sips at the hot drink, blackberries leaving a silage of purple at the edges of the mug. Her teeth clink on the rim. The heat burns and she winces, puts the cup down and looks around her. The glade is still only dappled with light, early morning frost scattered in fragments over the damp grass. A snoring heap enshrouded in blankets on the other side of the fire indicates that the Prince Arthur has yet to wake. Morgana shivers and wonders where Gwen slept last night. On the floor of Firren's makeshift hut, beside a dying woman? Morgana squares her shoulders and takes another sip of the drink, this time ignoring its searing brutality. She will rescue her friend before the full moon, mind talk or no mind talk.

Merlin is still hunched on the other side, gangly limbs hanging like an afterthought. Morgana's eyes drift upwards towards his delightfully ruffled hair, the dappled sunlight giving it depth. She pushes the blankets off her shoulders and stands, stretching. The tears of last night gone, Morgana is once more ready to engage in a (friendly) battle with the physician's assistant as to the extent of his magical powers.

"You know that it would be helpful if you would continue talking to me in mind speak," Morgana states matter of factly, her height giving her a position of power. She drops her empty cup to the grass and places her hands on her hips, kneading the aching bone with taut fingertips. She wonders if she is imagining her friend's eyes drift guiltily to the spot where her hands knead, clad even as she is in full travelling clothes and a heavy cloak. She smirks, faintly and feels a pang of guilt. She allows the ashamed feeling to intensify, refusing to suppress it. _Gwen's beau, Gwen's beau,_ she reminds herself painfully.

Merlin clears his throat and lifts his gaze. "I just don't think it's a good idea, my lady," he says. His use of the formal title is grating and, Morgana is sure, completely intentional. "It could be dangerous for you."

"Why?" Morgana questions quickly. "Because mind speak is a magical ability?"

Merlin's eyes flicker to the sleeping prince. "Scared Arthur will find out about your powers?" Morgana demands, adrenaline once again pushing her into deeper waters.

"My lady-"

"For god's sake, Merlin, you've been at court a year now, use my name," Morgana snaps, eyes flashing fire. It irks her, his continued insistence of formality. She shakes her head and turns away from his helpless, unspeaking face, disappointed yet again. "I'll pack the saddle bags. You can wake Arthur," she says, her fight driven momentarily underground.

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It takes a long, frustrating morning of riding through increasingly rocky countryside before they reach the village of Pataglen. Although the sunlight clarifies as they begin their ride, clouds soon cover the sky, a heavy, oppressive grey uniformity which depresses their spirits. Arthur, grumpy and tired, is not cheered even by Merlin and eventually Morgana's most valiant efforts. When his horse stumbles and loses a shoe at a particularly rocky patch of hill, both of his companions wince in anticipation of a spectacularly broken temper. They are relieved, therefore, when Arthur's attention is caught instead by chimneys in the distance.

"That must be Firren's village," he says, gesturing to the rising cottages. He waves off Merlin's offer of his horse; "I'll walk. We'd better hurry," he growls anxiously, eyes scanning the open land in front of them as though expecting to spot two werewolves. "Well, come on then!"

The three stumble through the tall grass, horses hooves squelching in deep mud. Morgana allows her eyes to close for a moment, losing her worry in a pleasant daydream of being back at Camelot, Gwen unharmed. She would take the girl to her home and tell her to rest, have a kitchen boy take her some food and soup. And then...what then? And then she would be alone once more in her high tower room, pacing the flagstones.

Her eyes snap open and she hardens herself; no rest for the weary. No comfort for the wicked, and those with magic are wicked, in Camelot at least. Merlin's high, tense back dips and sways in time with the horse's movements, creased fabric moving fluidly, sea like.

For the wicked, there is nowhere to belong and nobody to belong with.

But for now, there is a makeshift shelter on the edge of the village and this will have to do, for temporary existential comfort.

The clopping of the horses' hooves becomes a muffled thumping as they trot from the hard-packed path to the soft, verdant grass. Morgana watches, unable to move her eyes away, as Merlin sleekly slips off the horse and gently guides it to the closest tree, murmuring softly and smoothing the spooked hair standing on the animal's back. Morgana's tongue moistens her lips as she can't stop herself from imagining his hands smoothing her hair; his voice murmuring softly in her ear. _Would he be that gentle with me?_ she wonders wistfully. An idea strikes her and her gaping mouth twists mischeviously into a cheeky smirk. _What was it he'd said? 'Just be careful how loud your thoughts are?'_

As a thought is sent intrusively into Merlin's vacant mind, he falters with the horse's reins and it slips out of his fingers. The horse snorts and begins to move away, searching further afield for fresh grass. "Ah..no!" Merlin's high cheekbones flush a slightly dull pink and he reaches hastily for the reins. Before he can grasp them, Morgana slips sideways off her horse and reaches for the thin strips of cracked leather, hand brushing his as she passes them to him. She smiles innocently and he raises his eyebrows at her, unsure whether the thought had been intentionally or unintentionally sent. "Remember how we weren't going to use mind speak anymore?" he says in a low voice, cheeks cooling as she moves away from him.

"Mind speak? I didn't send anything to you, Merlin," Morgana smiles, green eyes wide and bold. She tips her head to the side. "Come on. Arthur's halfway to Firren's hut."

 _The lady Morgana is a dangerous woman_ , Merlin thinks as they jog across the field, the princess's hands twisted in the heavy green velvet of her cloak, _in more ways than one_.

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The hut is closer to the forest than it is to the village, a small tumbledown collection of sticks, dirt and mildew with barely enough roof to stop the rain drenching all inhabitants. _No wonder Firren's mother is ill. Poor woman_ , Morgana thinks, looking with compassion at the indecent housing. Her sympathy wanes slightly as she ducks her head and follows a jittery Arthur, drawn sword and all, into the darkness. A bundled shape in a lavender maid's frock lies on the floor, body limp and chest jumping as though she's finding it hard to breath. Her kind dark eyes are shut tight and a yellow liquid seeps out the corners. Her hair surrounds her face, halo-like, but much dirtier.

"Guinevere, by god, what have they done to you?" Arthur breathes, sword dropping to his side as he stares down, transfixed, at the sick woman. Morgana pushes past him and kneels beside the girl. Merlin drops to his knees, reassuring hand briefly resting on Morgana's shoulder so that she shivers, and searches through the rough cloth knapsack for healing herbs.

Absorbed in Gwen, they all forget for a moment the other inhaibitants of the hovel. A harsh growl from something resembling a crumpled sack reminds them. "Put the sword away!" demands the elderly voice. "Put it away. Sword goes away!"

"I'm informed we're in the presence of werewolves," Arthur barks, eyes not wavering from Gwen's face, "So I'll be keeping my sword out." The word 'werewolves' seems to break the old woman and she crumbles deeper into the corner, cloth dragged up beside her empty pale eyes.

"My mother doesn't like swords," as before in the smithy, Firren appears suddenly out of the darkness, voice high and childish, yet steady. "We don't have any sharp things here."

Morgana looks up anxiously, searching out the boy's green eyes. "Firren? What's happened to Gwen?"

Before the boy can answer, his mother lets out a soft, muffled cry and lifts a shaking, wrinkled hand.

"No!" Morgana hears Merlin start behind her and turn, reaching a bent hand and opening his mouth.

" _Hneapplan_ " sings the woman and as Morgana watches, horrified, Arthur's sword drops to the ground and he falls heavily after it, assuming the same silent, rag doll pose as Gwen.

"Arthur!" Merlin swears and lifts the prince's head, checking for bruises. Morgana's eyes meet the old woman's; the woman smiles slightly with satisfaction.

"Will not hurt them,' her voice cracks, "An old sleeping spell. Hurry. Afternoon now. Full moon tonight. Then your friends will die. Hurry. No swords in my home."

A chill seeps through Morgana and settles like iron in her spine. It is afternoon, judging by the light outside the door. With one man down, she and Merlin will have to move even faster if they have any hope of defeating the Wolf King. Morgana stands decisively, giving Gwen's face a final, gentle stroke. Wordlessly, she grasps Merlin's bony, fragile wrist and tugs him upwards and out of the hut. He follows reluctantly, eyes still turned to their friends, blinking in the sudden daylight.

Morgana circles like a compass needle, skirts spinning like circling crows, searching the sky for the tallest tower. A forbidding spire, double the height of the church and three times as forboding, looks promising. She lifts her skirts and heads impatiently through the tall grass, looking back at Merlin's shadowed face and nervous hands.

"Come on, Merlin. It's just you and me now," Morgana says with a wicked smile.


	5. Fire and Water

Just a short chapter today I'm afraid! Hope you enjoy it :)

 **Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with the BBC and I do not own Merlin or any of its characters. I am using them for entertainment purposes under the fair use and/or transformative works clause.**

Morgana makes her way determinately across the long expanse of scratchy grass, the damp edges of her skirt held high in her hands. Merlin stomps gently beside her, running a long, staff-like branch through the grass beside them, a small, anxious hum emitting from his lips. His soft, slightly reddened lips. Lips Morgana is trying very hard not look at. She feels her stomach turn over and pushes away a though of his mouth pressed close against hers, tasting of magic and calm and healing potions. Her heart is thumping to a rapid, wild-woman beat in her chest, from the exertion of their swift walk combined with the exhilarating presence of Merlin.

"…Morgana?" Merlin is saying. Damn. She's been so lost in her head that she's missed his words.

"What is it?" her tone must have been sharper than she'd intended, because the tall young man beside seems to shrink slightly, remembering his position in the castle hierarchy.

"Sorry, my lady, we're, uh, almost there."

"How do you know?" Morgana frowns. The light has certainly darkened significantly over the course of their walk, and the cold of late afternoon is beginning to settle in her bones. Her fingers move to her hips again and she thumbs the aching bone as she hopes anxiously that Gwen has a blanket at least to cover her. Arthur could fend for himself: it was his own fault he was unconscious.

Merlin clears his throat. "The tall, towering castle behind a large swampy moat immediately in front of us was a bit of a giveaway," he tells her, deadpan.

Morgana looks up, startled, as in surprise she realises he's right. The heavy stone of the castle is forbidding and casts an air of hopelessness over them both. Instinctively, the two draw closer together, each feeling a slight, magical warmth emanating from their companion – almost as though they are glowing under the shadow of the turrets. Morgana has the same odd sensation that she often has around Merlin, a shrinking of reality until it makes a small circle around just the two of them. Morgana hasn't given up on proving Merlin's magical powers – the universe itself is warping for them. He must have magic. There is no other explanation for why she feels so…drawn…towards the boy.

She shakes her head clear of the haze of attraction and curiosity that surrounds her and looks out over the swamp, as wide as Uther's great hall lengthways and so deep that the blackened water reflects her face as she peers over the edge. She shuffles her feet closer and gazes down, looking for some sort of ladder or boat, then screams as she feels herself tip slightly forwards over the edge.

"Morgana!" Merlin grabs for her in alarm, his surprisingly strong hand clamping around her wrist and tugging her backwards. Morgana takes a heavy step backwards, almost tripping into her friend, breath hitching in her throat as she regains her balance. The weight of his fingers is hot on her wrist. She can feel his body behind her, his breath moving her hair as they both recalibrate. Morgana turns hastily to thank him.

And stops.

In her fumbling fear Morgana has not realised how close they're standing. His mesmerising blue eyes penetrating hers, bodies flush and chests beating almost too fast. The rough red cloth of his tunic pressing against the soft green of her cloak. Her lips inches away from his. They count breaths. One. Two. Three. They don't remember what they're doing. Four. Five. barely remember where they are. Seven. Eight. Nine. Electrical currents humming between their closed hands.

"Um," Merlin says softly. He tilts his head. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

He lets her wrist go.

They don't look at one another as they shuffle apart, Morgana's hands briefly going to her hair and combing it out free from any tangles in a nervous, unnessecary gesture.

"About this moat," Merlin says softly, hoarsely, his blue eyes squinting out over the gloomy water.

"I have an idea," promises Morgana.

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"Remind me _never_ to listen to your ideas again," Merlin shouts approximately fifteen minutes later, as the two of them cling to a rope twisted inexpertly out of Morgana's cloak and underdress hooked precariously to a jagged edge of stone on the castle wall. The mechanism will take them over the moat, although barely above the deep water, and ends somewhere with some hopeful footholds.

"It's getting late, what else were we supposed to do? You do know what happens when a full, blue moon rises, don't you?" Morgana yells back over the rushing wind. Her hands sting from rope burns and she can feel herself slipping. The murky water below does not increase her confidence, and neither does the long length they still have to travel before they reach the castle.

"I think Gaius' hour long lecture condensed into three minutes did the trick. Moon rises, wolves kill." Merlin shouts back, his words half-lost in the wind. It's also freezing, Morgana thinks to herself. She's shivering without her underclothes and cosy cloak, and it's not making the task of staying on the rope any easier.

"What are we going to do when we get to the castle? I'd really rather not be cursed into a werewolf like Firren!" Morgana yells. Conversation is a distraction at least. Her hands inch a little further along the twisted cloth.

Merlin opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a tearing sound. They both scream as the rope buckles and sinks, levering them closer to the gaping mouth of the inky moat. One of Morgana's hands slips and she desperately tries to get a hold.

"Damn it!" she swears as her frozen fingers refuse to obey her.

"Are you okay?" Merlin's face is concerned even as his own hands slip. They scream again as their movements cause the rope to depress further.

"That's a ridiculous question!' Morgana forces through her chafed lips. "If only _one of us_ had magic and could get us out of here!" She glares at him pointedly.

"Do you believe that what you can do isn't magic? Seeing visions?" Merlin calls curiously across the expanse of trembling cloth between them.

Morgana stops at the implication of his words and draws a ragged gasp. "So you do think I have magic? You know, you've always evaded saying that. But I was right, it is what you think!" Morgana triumphs as she watches him swear inwardly. She would have quite enjoyed this conversation if they'd been somewhere less dangerous than several meters above thick water waiting to drown them.

"Gaius didn't want me to tell you! He thought it would put you in danger!" Merlin defends himself.

"And you always do everything Gaius tells you," Morgana contends sarcastically. "Oh, for god's sakes, Merlin, just tell me that you have magic and use it to get us out of here quickly!"

Their fates hang, literally, in the balance as Merlin looks at her. The shadows of their faces make them look ancient and exhausted. The darkness is encroaching. And still he does not speak. "The magic is inside you," he says to her, so softly that she almost cannot hear, "Use it, Morgana."

Morgana fells anger rising in her, anger at the confession he so consistenly denies her, anger at her own continuous hopes despite constant disappointment, anger at her useless powers that never procure any useful benefit. Then she remembers Gwen, her dark face turned pale and sickly yellow, her chest pumping breathlessly. Morgana shuts her eyes. All the anger, all the fear, all the love, all the electricity between the two people hanging above the moat. She can feel it all, grasps it all in her head as though it is a runaway horse's halter. Morgana thinks she might be screaming from the sheer power caught and bundled into her own single mind. Her head starts to pound, the pressure of it volatile and explosive. She looks across at Merlin with green eyes filled with tears and the black edges of pain-driven unconsciousness. She can barely make out his awkward half nod, almost of respect.

Morgana lets a word that she doesn't know, doesn't remember, yet has always known, sing forth from her lips. " _Fyr_ ," the witch whispers. With a sudden, exhilarating whoosh of air flame crackles up on the surface of the water. Morgana looks on in delirious confusion as the ache in her head slows and steadies.

The flame beats higher, fighting down the water. As the two enchanters watch, spell bound, two dragons rise, one of flame, one of water. The water dragon crashes angrily into the flame but the fire's light shines steady through the translucent glaze of liquid. The black water dragon looks as though it is heated from inside. It begins to writhe, beating its tall, watery wings against its body. Morgana's flame stays steady and with a shriek of humiliation the water subsides, collapsing in on itself and drawing back and back into the crevices from which it had sprung.

Morgana's fiery conjurance is not finished. It dances on the dry grey stone, an unintelligible message in its amber eyes. Morgana doesn't know how to stop it. From behind her she hears Merlin's voice. "Protect us," he begs the magnificent creature. "Protect the children of fire." They are the right words.

In its final explosion of colour, the long slithered form spins and dips gloriously, lifting them both high into the air on its back in a swift, unexpected movement. Its pyre burns a singed hole through the centre of the castle's forbidding door and the dragon deposits them, safely, on a cold stone floor before disintegrating into ash.


	6. The Chamber of the Wolf King

**Note: so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! I've been in hospital :( Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, followed or favourited - it means so much to me! Hope you enjoy this chapter. I don't own anything.**

Morgana blinks soot from the edges of her eyes. Her body aches and her mind feels drained and empty from the effort of such huge magic. She looks up to see Merlin standing awkwardly over her, his blue eyes brimming with concern and hesitancy.

"Are you okay? That must have taken a lot of energy."

The thin blue veins snaking through his arms pulse fast with barely concealed anxiety and he reaches one hand down to help her up. Morgana reaches for it, groaning slightly as she unfolds herself and stands upright on the hard packed floor of the empty entrance hall. His hand feels electric and warm and alive. She doesn't want to let go of his comforting fingertips, but she does, almost too quickly to remember how they felt.

Almost.

"I'm a lot stronger than you think, obviously," she sasses, feeling energy sink again into her limbs.

Then she grins, remembering Merlin's words - spoken in no language that she recognised - which ordered the dragon to protect them. Surely nobody non-magical would know such an enchanted, dragonish language. She tucks the piece of knowledge into her mind, savouring to be used later, and turns her attention to the echoing chamber which surrounds them. Merlin follows her gaze and they look around them.

Orange, burnt light splinters messily in through the door which Morgana's dragon has torn open. The brightness spills only a few inches into the room, however, looking as though it is forbidden to illuminate further into the chamber. High ceilinged and a hundred paces long, the room is rimmed with black shadows which twist and leer out of the corners. The building seems to hum with a dark, malignant energy which makes them both shiver.

"Hurry," Morgana murmurs urgently to herself in response to the dangerous, dark energy. She isn't sure what they're looking for, has no idea where to find the Wolf King, but the absence of light tricks time into a gaping absence. The moon could be beginning to rise already.

Looking about her for some source of light, Morgana murmurs " _fyr_?" Immediately several unseen torches placed in brackets along the far wall ignite. Their brilliance scatters the shadow, sending it scurrying into further corners. Morgana glances at Merlin from under her eyelashes. Good. He looks impressed. She strides across the room, grasping two torches and shoving one into her companion's hand without allowing their fingertips to touch or their eye shadow to meet. She doesn't have time for the crackling tension between them, like the static in a thunderstorm.

"Walk fast," she instructs, and at a half walk, half jog, the two make their way down the long, long room and disappear through the tunnel-like doorway gaping at them from the far side.

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"What exactly is our plan here?" Morgana pants, twisting her elegant neck downwards to peer at Merlin's face as they laboriously ascend a black, dust covered spiral staircase.

"Don't you have one?" Merlin asks, half seriously, half joking, "You outrank me! That means you give the orders."

"It's not often you'll hear me say this, Merlin, but I'm quite happy to be the one following orders today. Given that you're the one who knows slightly more about this Wolf King," Morgana doesn't look at him as she says this, afraid he'll see something in her eyes which betrayed that despite the seriousness of the situation, she is still managing to enjoy bantering with Arthur's serving boy. Which is not an appropriate thought at all.

"Gains gave me a bit of a run down," Merlin admits, "the Wolf King's been here for centuries, as long as anyone can ever remember, basically. People don't see him, he stays in here all the time and they say nobody gets past the entrance without being turned into a wolf."

"Lucky us."

"There's an old rhyme about the Wolf King, then that's about all Gauis knew. It's a sort of children's song, it goes "King of wolves is king of shadows, lives inside his house of shadows, in you go then out you come, a wolf must never see the sun."

They are silent after this, and Morgana, lost in thought, almost trips in empty air before she realises they've reached the top of the staircase. High mullioned windows reach down a long passageway wide as four men laid end to end. The windows are so caked with dirt, dust and dead things that only a minuscule portion of reddish light filters through from outside. Something inside this room seems to hum and beat with malicious, greedy intent. She can feel magic, feel the bubble and push, feel it calling towards her, 'Morgana! Morgana! Run into the shadows and play! Morgana! Morgana! Everything you ever wanted...'

Merlin's light touch on her shoulder make sure her jump.

"You okay?" he asks gently, his hand gripping her fragile shoulder bones firmly, as though to steady her. His other hand weaves the torch through the room, illuminating huge double doors at the far end cunningly engraved with a wolf pack. At the centre of the doors, spanning both sides, is a giant engraving of a wolf with a crown settled betweeen its alert ears, howling to the disc of the moon off to the left. Although now grey with dust, the doors must have been gold once, for the colour can still be glimpsed through the sticky black residue.

Morgana clears her throats and steps quickly away from Merlin's distracting, intoxicating touch. He flinches slightly, as though he has hurt her. "Sorry," he mutters, eyes darting deep into hers and then gliding away, his hand still in the air as though it is remembering the shape of her skeleton.

She shakes her head. "It's fine. Merlin - don't step into the shadows. Don't touch them. Something about them feels -"

Hungry, thinks Morgana, starving, aching for more and more and more of whatever it is that shadow eats. Secrets and power and gold. And dangerous, thinks Morgana, like monsters under a child's bed, evil in plain sight that nobody else seems to notice.

"Wrong," she finishes lamely. Merlin accepts this without question, his mind in other places, with the prince and Gwen lying still on the hut floor. With the red light through the windows which indicate that outside the sun is setting. They don't have very long left.

"Can you hear it?" Morgana pushes as they step forward cautiously into the light shed by their flickering torches. "The voices, can you hear them, Merlin?" She has allowed too much fear into her voice, she criticises herself harshly, too much vulnerability. Too much of herself, when other people lie sick and sleeping and close to death. But her companion responds to the fear in her voice.

"I can't hear anything," he says gently, "But you do have very strong magical powers, we know that, maybe that's why?"

Morgana looks suspiciously at him. Can he really not hear them? Their call is so strong. She can feel hungry desire crawling at the edges of her vision, a cool rush of pleasure that would ensue if she would just _step into the shadows_. Great. Now she really is losing it. She brushes her long dark hair away from her face with a determined gesture and takes a deep breath as she continues to step forward cautiously. The hallway is long, and they dance through it with caution, in stops and starts, avoiding the shadows scattered over the floor. Broken edges of walls and bent torch holders mean that there is no consistent pathway of light. The further down they walk, the longer the room seems to stretch, and however close they come it never seems to be close enough to touch the door.

Morgana, aside from being a born strategist, has spent enough time with her father to know that walking into the camp of the enemy without a solid plan is the battle strategy most likely to get you and all your knights killed as quickly as possible. She also knows that no solid plan can be made without knowing the strengths of yourself and your army. She looks at Merlin, who is peering ahead of them, trying to estimate the distance to the door. "Merlin?" she says.

He turns his head immediately, attention drawn by the melody of her mouth, the notes in her lips. His name between her hands.

"How did you know what to say to my dragon? Do you speak her language? Can you do that without magic?" the words tumble out of Morgana's mouth, she is so eager for an answer, so sure that this is the one thing he cannot deny. The final brick in the wall that will cement them together. A rough ache snaps through the ward's middle as she remembers how _lonely_ she is.

The tips of Merlin's ears turn red as he turns his face quickly away from her. "Umm...Gauis gave me a rabbit foot? It's good luck? I was...I was...lucky...?"

Morgana almost laughs aloud with annoyance and relief at the transparency of his excuse. "Oh come on, Merlin, you can do better than that. At the very least are you sure it wasn't an old children's song you learned from your mother? Or you could try your favourite excuse, 'I understand better than you know, but there's nothing to tell." She's teasing but there is a edge to her voice. Morgana is a king's ward and she is used to getting what she wants.

The voices in the shadows seem to whisper again: Morgana. Morgana. You know you want to...step into the shadows...

Merlin laughs in giddy relief as he realises he is saved from having to answer by the fact that they have reached the door. "Can we argue later? We have a werewolf to fight right now."

Morgana is grateful to have finally reached the door and a pang of fear hits her centre as she remembers the faces of her handmaiden and brother lying on the dirt floor, barely breathing. She unrolls her long fingers and allows her torch to clatter to the ground as she uses both hands to push at the sticky, ancient golden door which slides open with surprising swiftness. "Oh, we'll be arguing about this later, believe me," she shoots at her companion as he grasps the door handle and steps into the room behind her.

Morgana fights an urge to tiptoe as they enter the circular chamber. She'd been expecting to see a throne of some sort, some terrible half-human, half-animal seated upon on it with a crown. Instead, the room is eerily empty, a twilight darkness enveloping them and darkening until it reaches the centre of the room where a dark, shifting mass of shadow sways, long tendrils of blackness reaching out for the feet of the humans. Morgana grasps Merlin's arm and roughly shoves them both backwards, trying not register the curve of his muscle beneath the rough red linen of his shirt.

"Soooo..." a deep ugly voice crashes out of the darkness and the couple in the doorway instinctively take a step closer to each other. Hearts beating, arms touching. Their breath catches. The Wolf King is speaking.

"The prophesied children have arrived." The voice is strange, husky with a catch in it like a dripping jug. At the edges wave after wave of desire and hunger break along the shore of his invisible lips. "The witch. The magician. Welcome to my castle."

Morgana does not register the word magician. The voices around her have increased in frequency and are begging, begging her to walk into the shadow. She swallows hard as the King registers her compulsive distress. He laughs, a hard unforgiving sound that somehow still tastes like water at the end of a long, hot day. "Witch. You hear the voices? Darkness calls to darkness. It wants you."

Merlin's warm, heavy weight lies at her shoulder. "We're here about the boy and his mother." she calls strongly.

"The thief and the cripple? They _stole._ They paid the price." the darkness moves, swaying in righteous anger.

"They were hungry. They didn't understand the price they had to pay. They never entered your contract." Maybe it is the way he moves as he speaks, allowing more light to spill from the doorway, but Merlin's voice seems to drive the shadow backwards a little.

"Lift the spell," Morgana joins.

A slow funeral march wheezes out of the shadows as the mass speaks in a singsong voice. "My dear little children, you're _funny_. It doesn't _work_ that way. Come into the darkness and fight and _then_ we will see what the King can do for you."

"What will happen if one of us enters the shadow? If we come to you?" Merlin asks. Morgana flicks her eyes to him, alert for any movement towards the heart of the darkness.

"The darkness will enter you. If you can get all that shadow out of your heart, sun will hit this room and destroy me. If you can't - and, let the emptiness of this place demonstrate how many have tried and how many have failed - you will be destroyed. Another skeleton in the pile in my...heart...your dust... to become my lungs." The King laughs, a wolf's hunger embedded so deeply into his voice.

Morgana turns to her companion. One of them will have to go in. The only question is, who? _Light will not destroy this thing...shadow moves when the lights comes from outside...the light has to come from its centre...to destroy it..._ as though a candle has been lit inside the princess's head, Morgana knows the answer. Fire. Fire, from the inside of the shadow, to destroy the shadow. Something bright and hot and overwhelming. _A wolf must never see the sun._

Merlin must have come to the same conclusion, for her let's his torch fall and steps forward, touching Morgana's arm gently. "If I don't come out, take the horses and Arthur's spare sword from his saddlebag and get them out," he murmurs.

Morgana shakes her head fiercely. "Lucky you have such a good plan. You'll need it, since I'm the one going in."

"No, you're not, my lady," Merlin shoots back. Morgana hesitates. The intensity of the shadow voices doesn't bode well for her ability to fight the darkness...and then, she is sure Merlin has the magic to cast fire...doesn't he? But he still hasn't admitted it yet. And if he isn't lying, if he has no magic in the tips of his fingers, no gold in his bright eyes? She can't send him into shadow without any weapons at all. At least she knows she has her magic.

"Yes, I am. Now, get out of my way unless you want to get hurt," she twists past his body, breathing shallowly as she contemplates the darkness that rules this place. But his hand snakes out, his long fingers taking her wrist with a strength that makes her stomach flip unwittingly.

"I am a servant. It is my job to lay down my life for the King, or the King's ward. Step back, Morgana," he tells her in a low, serious voice. Morgana hesitates, a long moment passing between them.

"Fine," she breathes. His shoulders sag in relief and he squeezes her hand tightly before he lets her go. Morgana wonders if he thinks she can't feel him shaking. "Wait. Do one thing for me before you go?" she pleads suddenly.

He turns back to her, mouth half open as he breaths fast and shallow. "Anything. Quickly, now."

Morgana steps closer to him, heart hammering as her chest meets his, her head at his neck, tilted upwards at his shocked-still face. Her fingers twist around the rabbit's foot on his belt and she tugs it off, wraps it in her hand. She needs all the luck she can get.

"Just...this..." Morgana murmurs. Her hand lifts to his dark hair, brings his head down low. Tiptoe...lips meet. _Everything you ever wanted._ Pleasure and light dances briefly through the two figures as Merlin instinctively reaches up his hand to cup her chiselled cheek.

Then Morgana pulls away with a sad, determined smile. His hands reach after her, his face wide open and raw with their touch, unable to move for a moment with shock. Morgana lifts one hand and strokes his face, the hard bone beside his eye narrowing into a rough chin. She doesn't say anything.

And, as the magician is enchanted into stillness, the witch steps into the centre of the shadow.


	7. Everything You Ever Wanted

**I don't own Merlin!**

 _I'm sooooooo sorry for the long wait everybody! It's been chaotic lately. I hope you like this chapter – thanks for reading and thanks heaps to everyone who favourite or followed or reviewed_ _J_ _FYI this story's going to continue after this chapter…if you leave a comment, please feel free to tell me what you'd like to see in future instalments!_

Merlin stares, horrified, at the enveloping shadow which has seemed to so completely swallow Morgana. "Morgana…" he breathes, for a moment barely comprehending what she has done. Then he realises the magnitude of her decision and he breathes in with a rush, yells "Morgana!" into the dust filled air.

A hollow laugh emanates from the shadow. The voice, when it speaks, is like Morgana's but not. As though somebody had taken the woman and emptied out her heart, refilling it with bitterness and a need for revenge. "Yes, Merlin?" she says. He can hear the smirk in her voice and his heart drops to his stomach. It's got her.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple a physically painful lump to gulp around. The light outside is dying so fast, too fast, faster than it should; surely the moon will soon rise over the horizon. He thinks of Arthur and Gwen lying so helplessly on the floor of the werewolves' lair, barely breathing and a wave of terror washes over him, making him sweat with cold. "Morgana," he begins very levelly, "You've entered the Wolf King now. Remember why you went in? Remember what you have to do? You need to reverse the curse by destroying the king. Please hurry."

He can practically hear Morgana roll her eyes. "Destroy the king? I _am_ the king, Merlin. So much power…so much damage inside these fingertips…" There is a sound of bone cracking, as though she is inspecting her closed knuckles. "The dark called to me and I heeded it. And now – I can do whatever I want. I could destroy cities with a single breath from my lips. I could pull you down, Merlin, denigrate you and force you into the fur and the terror of the wolves. Why should I give that up?"

"Arthur will die if you don't," Merlin pleads, "And so will Gwen. Please, Morgana. Somewhere in your head you must still be yourself. I know the wolf king is strong, but you're stronger. You have to fight him. _You have to lift the curse_."

The shadows giggle and flitter, dancing around his ankles like chains. His blood is running frozen through his veins and his heart beats so fast he can't believe it's still inside of his chest. He passes his hands over his lips in a distracted gesture, but the movement makes him pause as he remembers the kiss, barely moments before; a tiny glimmer of hope. Because he knows Morgana, knows her so well, her stubbornness and her strength and her magic and he trusts her. Somehow, she would find a way. He can only pray that it would be soon. He reaches out to her, pale fingers shining in the final dregs of afternoon light.

"I trust you," he says. "You're strong enough, Morgana. There was a reason the shadow called to you and it wasn't because it was part of you – it was because you were the only one strong enough to defeat it."

The shadow Morgana seems to crack and shimmer, eddying around the edges of the room with a menacing swiftness that threatens to engulf the sorcerer standing defiant before it. "I wasn't strong," ridicules the not-Morgana's voice, "the darkness called to me because I needed it, craved it, begged for it. Because I wanted and I wanted and my soul has been made of shadow since I was born. Only now, _now_ , with the darkness inside me, I am strong. I can do everything. Everything I ever wanted," she sing-songs in that harsh, abrasive voice.

Merlin shakes his head with conviction. "No. The shadow isn't inside you, Morgana, you're inside it. It's not a part of you, it's just surrounding you so you can't see that there's light at the edges. Light it up, Morgana. Light up the shadow and you'll see that it's not part of you."

The shadow seems to hesitate. And now it grows, enormous and towering. It grows upwards and outwards until it towers over Merlin and he lifts a hand, reluctantly, to shield his face.

"You don't tell me who I am," the shadow orders in its hollow cant, "You don't define me. I am the last high priestess and I will take. What. I. Am. Owed!" The shadow is so loud, deafening, as though a thunderstorm has erupted inside the castle walls and as he covers his ears, wincing in auditory pain Merlin sees something that sends a shiver straight down his back like lightning. A pile of skeletons are hidden by the darkness, the wolf king their shroud. He knows, suddenly and with terrible conviction, that the wolf king is only using Morgana, intends to use her life force and her energy and her passion and he slowly drain her dry until nothing remained but dust and bones. Merlin would lose all three of his closest friends. Grief breaks through the defiance in his heart .

 _Come on, Morgana_ , he thinks, horrified and frustrated. And – was that? Could he hear?

A tiny voice coming back to him. Not from the shadow, not from outside. Inside his head. Morgana is using mindspeak! A grin breaks over Merlin's angular face to hear her voice, faint and exhausted, but still very much her own.

 _Merlin_ , sends Morgana, tired and in pain, the words only imprinting themselves very weakly in Merlin's mind. _I don't think...I have…much time. I can't , I can't – the king is inside my head, it's taking all of my energy just to hold this much…I'm not..strong enough…_

 _No. No, don't ever say that_ , the wizard's entire body trembles, hearing the villainous laughter of the shadow witch with only a tiny portion of his brain, entirely focused upon the sounds in his head. _You're strong enough. You are. Just say the words and you'll be safe again, everyone will be safe. Be brave._

Morgana's voice is growing audibly fainter. _But it hurts._

The shadow Morgana must have heard this thought, too, for she seems to scream with fury. "IT DOESN'T HURT. IT DOESN'T HURT INSIDE THE SHADOW. NO. NO, PLEASE, NO MORE HURTING…UGH!" A spiral of dust begins to glow dully inside the heart of the shadow mass, pouring virulently out of the mass, bleeding into the air and floating out the window. "IT DOESN'T HURT. I CAN'T HURT ANYMORE."

Merlin's mind is filled suddenly with breathless agony and he doubles over, wondering, irrelevantly, when Morgana had figured out to send emotion telepathically. It was much harder than words. Morgana's voice is now so quiet, dulled also by his pain, that he has to strain to hear it. _She's right_ , breathes the girl, _it hurts so much. More than you could ever imagine. It aches to be alone. Everyday, over and over again alone alone alone and afraid, so afraid. The shadow is never afraid. The shadow never hurts. If I become one with it, I can stop…hurting…don't you see? I just…have…to…let…go…_ She breathes out, a breathy sigh. Darkness fills the edges of Merlin's vision.

 _No!_ he screams out to her, trying to fill her mind with whatever shallow hope he has left in him. _You're not alone, Morgana, you've never been alone. You have me. I'm here. You don't have to suffer alone anymore. I know how it feels, I know what you're going through. I have magic, too, Morgana._ His stomach sinks as he breaths out slowly, cautiously watching the mass for any changes. The revelation, so unwise and so desperate, it was his last hope, really – if she wouldn't react to that, she wouldn't react to anything. Nothing happens and watches, hopeless, as the shadow refuses to mutate. Dizziness is spinning Merlin around so much that he thinks he might fall over. Morgana's voice inside his head seemed to be gone and he realises, with terrifying, sickening, clarity, that she has given in. That he has revealed his deepest secret to someone fatally possessed by evil.

Black spots float in front of him, and with his last vestiges of consciousness Merlin realises that the sun has slipped away without him noticing. Everywhere was in shadow now. The moon would rise and the world would end. Vertigo overcomes him and he falls to his knees, immense pain ricocheting through his head.

"Agony is the price of trying to defy me," the Morgana-creature booms in its empty lilt. "It will kill you, in time. I will feed on your soul…so much brightness. So much hope. All taken, all turned. You. Will. Die."

This final statement is enough to bring a measure of relief to Merlin's pounding head. He wouldn't have to live without his friends. They would perish together. He has but a moment to let the pain of anticipated loneliness go, and then everything goes black.

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Morgana feels as though she is floating. She is very, very light, like she is high above everything, but her eyelids feel shut by a huge pressure and all she can see is the black underside of her own flesh. She is letting herself drift away. She's been so afraid of going home, been so hurt by the idea of being alone forever. Even now, in the dark, hot tears begin to spill helplessly down her face from the emotional pain and she whimpers slightly, opening her arms with relief to the hungry shadow: _everything she'd ever wanted. For the pain to stop. For power. For all._

Without warning, Merlin's mind voice jolts her out of semi-consciousness. _You're not alone, Morgana, you've never been alone. You have me. I'm here. You don't have to suffer alone anymore. I know how it feels, I know what you're going through. I have magic, too, Morgana._ She heard it, and she stops, stilled in the air, legs fighting the current. The dark begins to scream at her, grabbing her edges and pulling her upwards into the air. "Come on!" the shadow-Morgana hisses. "Let go. I know you want to." And she does, she does want to, more than anything she wants to drift away.

But – magic. Merlin has magic and a sudden bright gold is beginning to swirl deep inside her heart because maybe she isn't alone and maybe she doesn't have to be afraid. Morgana opens her eyes for the first time since she had entered the shadow, prying her lids apart through sheer force of will. She sees Merlin as though through a curtain, shimmering cloth of dust and cobweb and her heart burns with fear because he is kneeling on the ground, cradling his head in apparent torture. She thinks she can hear him screaming. With a start, she remembers Gwen and Arthur, what she needs to do and the three of them, her three friends who will never, never let her be alone, they're enough for the words to come to her. The shadow tugs hideously at her, pulling her backwards and it's so strong and she needs something, something to hold onto. With her last remaining strength, Morgana shoves the fog out of her mind and calls clearly to Merlin's mind with her own. The black ink of the words turning to golden strings of sound in the air between them. _Hold my hand_ , she says, very simply.

Merlin looks up, shivering with cold. Something has pulled him back from the edges of unconsciousness. What is it? A sound. A golden sound…Morgana's voice! She says, very simply, _Hold my hand_ , and he holds onto that thought and that hope with everything that he has, reaching a mental support out through his mind to touch hers. She seems to grip it, grasp onto it and –

Their eyes light with golden fire.

 _"Ic utadrifan neahtbealu,"_ they scream out together, the words rising instinctively to their lips. The shadow begins to scream as light flares irrespressibly in between the figures, the witch and the wizard and their interlocking souls cleansing the room of the King. A wolf begins to howl, screaming and screeching and keening through the castle, hitting the ancient statues and shattering the windows. Morgana and Merlin hold fast. It swims around then, faster and louder and more chaotic by the moment, and then, with a final breathless moan of destruction, the shadow… fades…away.

Morgana stares at Merlin, their hearts rising and falling in their chests so fast they seem to swell and contract in a single moment, every moment. Wordlessly, he reaches for her, and she grasps him tightly, holding onto him like a lifeline. Her face is still damp with tears and she presses it into his shaking shoulder, the two of them clinging together like debris after a storm. When she finally pulls back, their tears had mingled, staining one another's faces and clothing.

As she realises what they have just accomplished, a hint of mischief returns to the princess's face. "Told you you have magic, you liar," she smirks.


End file.
